


Angels and Answers

by klove0511



Series: Milestones 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 09, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues (Supernatural), First Time Blow Jobs, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Memory Alteration, Possessed Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Winchester communication skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26733868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klove0511/pseuds/klove0511
Summary: Cas has discovered his sexuality as a human when the Winchesters bring him to the bunker, and he and Sam fall into bed together. When Gadreel forces Dean to drive Cas away, the two must find their way back to each other, freeing Sam from Gadreel in the process.Tagging as non-con because of Gadreel's presence, not because of anything between Cas and Sam.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Gadreel & Sam Winchester
Series: Milestones 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948885
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41
Collections: Sastiel Big Bang 2020





	Angels and Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sastiel Big Bang 2020! I had a lot of fun working on this, and I am SO HAPPY to share this with you guys. Art credit goes to Blusxa (<https://pixiv.me/blubunnart>)  
> [Shading by SolusCheese ([ https://soluscheese.tumblr.com/commissions](https://soluscheese.tumblr.com/commissions))]  
> Go check out their stuff! Also, go [here ](https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/84693260)for the art masterpost, and tell them what an awesome job they did. :)
> 
> Also a shout out to my betas Dragonwithatale and @theladyofsupernatural. You both helped make this story better than it was, thank you.

Castiel stared out the window of the Impala, wondering how in Heaven he’d gotten to this point. Yesterday he had been homeless and living on the streets, hunted by angels. Earlier today, he had been dead. Now, he was warm, and safe, and on his way to a place his best friends called home. Too much had happened in such a short period of time, and he had no reason to assume that things were about to slow down. The Winchesters didn’t live like that.

Finding his place with them would be difficult. He was human now, and powerless, a fact they had all been reminded of that morning. Castiel frowned. Most likely, he was going to end up being even more of a burden on the brothers. It wasn’t something that sat easily with him. He remembered how difficult it had been before Sam stopped the Apocalypse, when Castiel’s powers were waning to almost nothing. Even then he had been a long way from human.

As if he could sense the dark turn of Castiel’s thoughts, Sam turned and asked, “Hey, man, you ok?”

It was just a few words, but knowing Sam cared enough to ask made some of the fear and anxiety fall away for the ex-angel. He nodded, and his reward was a blinding smile from Sam.

“Good.” Sam’s smile softened, and he ducked his head. “I’m really glad we didn’t lose you today, Cas.”

Dean gagged. “Oh, God, I’m going to vomit.”

Sam glared at his brother before shooting another brilliant smile Cas’s way. It made something flutter to life in Castiel’s chest, and thanks to his enlightening experience last night, he had an idea of what it was.

The rest of the trip was difficult for an entirely different reason than Castiel had originally expected. Any time he met Sam’s eyes, the hunter would light up, and it made Castiel re-examine every interaction he’d ever had with Sam Winchester. By the time they arrived at the bunker, Castiel was sure of nothing, but he suspected his feelings for Sam had run deeper than friendship for a long time.

It had him distracted and aching for a release he hadn’t known to want until yesterday.

Luckily, Dean left again almost immediately after they arrived when he realized they were completely out of food and, more importantly, beer, leaving Sam to help Castiel get settled.

“You’re probably exhausted. You remember where your room is?” Sam said as they walked down the hall toward the bedrooms.

Thoughts of everything besides sleep that could be done on a bed came unbidden to Castiel's mind, and he felt his arousal return full force. He stifled a groan and hoped Sam hadn't noticed.

"Cas?" Sam asked, obviously concerned.

"I'm fine," Castiel said. "I am simply having trouble adjusting to certain elements of my humanity."

Sam paused, then turned to more fully face Cas. "Anything in particular? Anything I could help with?"

Castiel shook his head. As much as his heart ached for it, he held no illusions that Sam returned his affections. "No, Sam. I'm sure I can discover the mechanics of sexual release on my own."

Sam's face flushed, though his expression was nearly unreadable. Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly, studied Sam's body language. His chin had dipped down, and he was avoiding eye contact while he pressed his lips into a hard line. Was Sam...disappointed?

Taking a gamble, he said, "Unless, of course, you would like to help. You are, after all, the source of my arousal."

Time seemed to stop for a moment, then Castiel found himself surrounded by Sam. His large calloused hands threaded through Cas's hair while Sam devoured his mouth. He pressed Cas into the wall, groaning as he felt Cas's erection pressing into his hip. Cas pressed forward, moaning in turn. Cas let himself drift, focusing on the sensations and not the surreal feeling of having Sam in his arms. They pushed and pulled each other to a bedroom, shedding shirts in the process. Sam kissed along Cas's jaw until Cas tugged on his long hair, pulling him back up for another proper kiss. 

They crashed onto the bed, and Castiel was left breathless. A small part of him wanted to slow down to savor the perfection that was Sam Winchester, but a much greater part of him craved the quick release Sam's frantic pace promised. 

Once they were both naked, Sam blanketed Cas's body. They mouthed at each other, often doing little more than breathing each other's air while they rutted against each other.

Slowly, Sam stilled his hips and began trailing kisses down Castiel's body. Cas whimpered, but it just made Sam smile as he worked himself lower. He nibbled at Castiel's hipbone, and Cas shuddered, overwhelmed. His skin felt ultra-sensitive, even the lightest touch rippled through his body. Eventually, even those touches stopped, and Castiel forced his eyes open. Sam was nestled between his legs, mouth hovering over Cas's cock.

He took a deep breath and said, "Cas, if you—"

"Sam," Cas groaned, "please."

Sam paused a moment more, then he smiled wickedly and dipped down until his mouth met the wet, leaking tip of Castiel's dick. Cas watched himself disappear between Sam's perfect lips, but soon his eyes dropped shut against the sensation. Everything was wet and warm and delicious pressure. As Sam bobbed his head, he flicked his tongue against the underside of Castiel's cock, and it was too much. The pleasure ratcheted higher until Cas thought he would explode, and then he saw stars.

He was breathing hard when he came back to himself. Orgasms certainly seemed to be the most unambiguously pleasing part of the human experience, and he hoped he would get to continue to experience them with some regularity in the future. Gradually, he became aware of warmth pressing against his side. A glance revealed Sam looking down at him with the brightest, happiest smile Cas could remember ever seeing on him. It made his heart flutter.

Distantly, they could hear the bunker door slam shut. Sam winced and said, "Come on. Better clean up and get out there or Dean will come looking for us."

Cas smiled softly and replied, "I'll be out in a few moments. I believe I am going to shower first; Dean did say the water pressure here is excellent."

Sam stood up, pausing like he wanted to say something but decided against it and hastily dressed. Cas noted with a twinge of regret that Sam was still hard. No matter. He would make it up to him later, given the opportunity. He hoped dearly that there would be more opportunities. Being human was miserable, but this—being with Sam—this made the whole experience bearable. 

Cas gathered the supplies they'd purchased for him—he hadn't kept his toothbrush and he'd only had the one set of clothes—and made his way to the showers. The water pressure was as excellent as Dean had said, and the joy of a hot shower was not something he took lightly. It was almost as good as his first shower at April’s place, after days spent living on the street. He let the warmth soak through him and the pounding water ease some of the tension he still carried.

It was difficult to wrap his mind around what had just happened. Sam and he had.... He had a flash of anxiety, wondering if Sam had been offended that Castiel had not reciprocated Sam's actions and left him wanting. Despite how enthusiastic Sam had seemed, Castiel worried he'd been too forward, that his earlier assessment of the situation had been correct and Sam did not actually harbor any deeper feelings for him. He huffed, frustrated with the circles his mind seemed trapped in. Sam had made the first move; Sam had waited for Cas's permission. Those were not the actions of someone who was second guessing what he wanted. Whether or not they translated to a continued sexual relationship, that remained to be seen. Sighing, he did his best to let go of his insecurities. He focused on the sound of the water, let that fill his mind instead of the wandering thoughts. 

Warm, clean, and relaxed, Cas made himself comfortable at one of the library tables, leftover burrito in hand. It was still amazing that things such as a takeout burrito could taste so good. He wondered, idly, what it would have tasted like if he still had the full power of his senses. How much more nuance could he have found in the humble burrito if he had even a hint of grace? It may have been an interesting thought experiment, but he tried to push it from his mind. One thing he'd learned over the last few days was that dwelling on his lost grace was an infinitely depressing well of self-loathing and grief, and if he had any desire to function, he needed to focus his attention elsewhere. For now, that meant focusing on his food, on the sheer pleasure of eating. 

He spotted Dean approaching and said, “Epic food. I can’t get enough.”

“Cas, uh, can we talk?”

Dean was studying the table, and Cas tried to put him at ease. “Of course. Dean you know I always appreciate our talks, our time together.” He pulled out the chair next to him in invitation.

Instead, Dean sat on the table, his expression alarmingly serious. "Listen, buddy, um, you can't stay."

The words didn't make any sense at first. What did Dean mean, he couldn't stay? They had traveled to Detroit expressly to pick him up, then traveled all the way back to Kansas, and _now_ he couldn't stay? What had changed? Dean was still talking, but Castiel was no longer paying attention. His mind had come to a standstill focused on exactly one thought. The only thing that had changed was the nature of his relationship with Sam. 

The bottom dropped out of his stomach, and he thought the burrito he'd been eating might make a reappearance. Did Dean know and that was why? Or had Sam reconsidered? Perhaps Castiel had read the situation wrong in the first place and pushed Sam into a situation he wasn't comfortable with. Sam had probably gone along with it to avoid hurting Cas's feelings. That would, after all, be a very Sam move. The thoughts continued to spiral, utterly paralyzing him and preventing him from doing anything beyond nodding numbly when Dean offered to drive him to the bus stop. 

Sam woke up in his own bed, confused about how he'd gotten there. The last thing he remembered he'd been laughing with Dean about Castiel's version of "protection." They must have gotten wasted last night for him to blackout and lose that much of the evening, though he didn't feel hungover. Maybe a little more tired than usual, but he'd been that way for days. He probably just wasn't sleeping well. It was still miles better than he'd felt a month ago, deep in the middle of the Trials. And none of that was relevant to his current bout of memory loss.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Sam grappled with the reality that he was having more of these episodes than he wanted to admit. Like a few days ago, when he would have sworn he had been thrown into the closet, but he woke up on the floor of the living room in that reaper's apartment. Mostly, they were small things, like Dean's increasingly stilted conversations or complete non sequiturs, or how every so often the world would shift half an inch to the left, as though Sam had shifted his weight without being there to remember it. It was disturbing, and this was the biggest blank yet. If he was honest, he should tell Dean. But he was so quick to blame everything on the Trials that Sam wasn't sure there was much point. After all, maybe Dean was right.

After a few minutes, Sam finally gathered the energy to get off the bed and head to the kitchen. He wondered if Cas would be there, if he liked coffee. The thought made his step just a little lighter, and he entered the kitchen with something resembling a smile on his face. The smell of coffee and bacon greeted him, and he knew Dean was already up and cooking before he ever saw him. The kitchen was otherwise empty, though. No Cas.

Sam fought back a wave of disappointment. Cas was probably just sleeping in. It was perfectly reasonable after all, since it had been a long few days for everyone. As much as Sam wanted to know what they'd done last night that might have sparked his blackout, he didn't want to ask. Dean was so on edge lately about Sam's health, and if Sam hadn't gotten drunk then the memory loss was going to turn into a whole thing. Sam just did not feel like he had the energy for that yet today. Not without Cas present as backup. Dean was less likely to blow up in general around Cas, and he was infinitely less likely to drag Sam's issues out in the open in front of other people. Cas didn't always count, but that's because usually he was able to help. Now that Cas was human, Dean would probably keep Sam's problems to between the two of them. 

Sam surveyed the breakfast offerings and decided to grab some fruit instead. Dean might be an excellent cook, but that was 100% due to the fact that everything he made was dripping with saturated fat. Without Cas's grace available to continually heal the damage, Sam needed to take better care in what he ate. That was not going to stop him from downing half of that pot of coffee though. Anything to help shake the pervasive fatigue that clung to his mind like cobwebs. 

"You sleep okay?" Dean asked, eyeing Sam's extra-large mug critically. 

Sam raised one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Good enough. Just can't seem to wake up today. Cas up already?"

Dean froze a moment before answering. It was barely perceptible, but it set off alarm bells like crazy for Sam. "Cas took off. Said he appreciated the offer to stay here, but he didn't want to risk bringing angels down on us."

That made no sense. He was warded. This whole place was warded. It was easily the safest place for the three of them in the entire country. Cas had to be crazy to leave. Unfortunately, the only thing Sam could think of to say in response was, "What?"

"Yeah, he left last night after we went to bed. Found his note this morning."

What? He'd left without even saying goodbye to either of them? "Can I see it?"

Dean looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I, uh, I threw it out. After I read it."

Weird. "Ok, um. Well, did he say where he was going? Or how to contact him?"

Dean shook his head, his "I am absolutely hiding something but please don't ask" face firmly plastered on. 

Weirder. So, Dean was definitely lying about something. The man was a trained and skilled con artist, but his ability to lie to Sam with a straight face had always been garbage. Dean had been doing a lot of lying to Sam lately, but this morning it seemed particularly bad. Given the context, Sam wasn't optimistic about what his brother was lying about. Cas had obviously sworn him to secrecy about something, and Sam suspected it was the real reason Cas had left the bunker. Thinking back to yesterday, Sam couldn't help but feel like he was the reason Cas had left. He'd been surprised to hear Cas had a sexual encounter with April, but it hadn't bothered him, much. The encounter they'd had had been enough for Sam, if that was all he was going to get. They hadn't exactly had a chance to talk about it, to figure out if it meant something more than what it was or if it had just been letting off some steam. Sam would have liked for it to be the start of something, but his life didn't work like that. Whether he liked it or not, he'd been prepared for it to be a one-off. Literally. He hated the thought that Cas had felt pressured by it, especially to the point where he felt he had to leave. But Sam could fix this, if he could just talk to Cas. Hopefully the angel wouldn't think to change his phone number. 

Looking up, he found Dean watching him suspiciously, and he put on his best "I believe all the bullshit coming out of your mouth right now" face. He'd practically perfected it at this point. 

Dean didn't leave Sam alone again for hours. First, he wanted to "help" while Sam organized the artifact inventory. Then he wanted Sam to keep him company and "learn to take care of the car" while Dean did something under the hood. Sam hadn't really been paying attention. They both knew the only time Sam was going to be doing maintenance on this car was if Dean died again, and Sam had no plans on being around alone long enough for the Impala to need maintenance. Dean permanently dying just wasn't an option. (It was, and he knew it, but his ability to be in denial about this particular issue was legendary.) After the Impala, Dean tried to talk Sam into making a run into town for supplies, which was the last straw.

"Seriously, Dean? You bought groceries yesterday. There's no way we're out already." Sam didn't bother trying to hide his frustration. He had no idea what his brother was trying to do, but he wanted to talk to Cas before the guy got too far away. Or before he got himself killed again.

Dean had the decency to look sheepish, at least, though he didn't offer any explanation.

Sam could wait him out though. If it was something to embarrass or annoy his older brother, then he had more patience than a saint. 

It only took a minute for Dean to break. "Ok, fine. I was trying to distract you."

Sam waited for the punchline. 

"I thought you might be upset about Cas leaving. And, I— I don't know, I guess I didn't want him to have to explain himself when he's just trying to protect us."

Sam made a disgruntled noise. "You do realize that without his grace we're much more capable of protecting ourselves than he is, right? Leaving him out there is like asking another angel to murder him."

"I tried to tell him that, but he wouldn't listen. You know how he is. Stubborn as a mule."

Sam didn't wait for Dean to realize his slip. "When exactly did you tell him that?"

Dean looked appropriately caught out, at least. "Uh.... This morning. After I found the note. Which I threw out."

"That the same note that didn't say anything about how to contact him?"

Dean shrugged helplessly. 

"Right. Well, maybe let me try. Ok? Unless you know something about why he wouldn't want to talk to me?"

Sam watched Dean try to come up with a lie and fail. He maybe expected him to spill with the truth, but of course this was the moment his brain decided to slip, and the next thing he knew the argument was apparently over because Sam was in the library alone. 

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. How much time had he lost? He'd probably never know, considering he wasn't even sure what time it had been. He could call Cas. His goal had been to get some alone time, after all. But there was always the chance that Dean had said something important that Sam just didn't remember now. Sighing, he rubbed his face. He'd grab some food, and then maybe crash for the night. If he was lucky, a good night's sleep would help clear his head. 

Castiel's bus jerked to a stop, waking him from an anxious nap. His neck ached from the position it had fallen into, and his back and legs hurt from being confined in the bus seat for hours. Any tension he'd lost while at the bunker was back with interest, and he felt it throughout his body, making everything stiff and uncomfortable. The bus smelled stale, though it was at least clean. The last bus he'd been on had smelled strongly of human vomit, and he was grateful that this one did not. Glancing out the window, Cas saw they had stopped at a rest stop, and he could see passengers streaming toward the building. Groaning, he pulled himself to his feet and shuffled off the bus with everyone else. Inside the rest stop there was a large map showing where they were. Still in Wyoming. According to the clock, it was just past 8 PM, which meant they would be arriving soon. He wasn't sure where he was going, but his plan was to ride the bus until he found a place that looked welcoming. Maybe somewhere in Idaho. The sparse population would make it a less attractive place for angels hunt for vessels, which should afford him some measure of protection. 

The evening was cooling rapidly, though it was still light enough to see. He missed his grace fiercely, hated that he was dependent on things like clothing and light to see or stay warm. Wallowing in his sorrow would only lead him down a dark path, but at the moment he welcomed it. If he was still an angel then Dean would not have abandoned him. He would not be relying on a bus for transportation because his wings would not be— He shook his head. The loss of his wings hurt more than the loss of grace. His grace was his utility to the Winchesters, but his wings were his _freedom_. With them he could blink and be anywhere. Their loss was tangible.

Besides, if he was wallowing in the loss of his angelic abilities, then he was spending less time thinking about Sam. He couldn't be sure why exactly Dean had asked Cas to leave, but the change in his relationship with Sam still seemed the most likely reason, now that he'd had some time to analyze the issue from every possible angle. If he had grace, then perhaps his usefulness would have outweighed Dean's reasons, or perhaps Sam would have wanted him to stay. More likely, things would never have progressed between himself and Sam, which was probably for the best. He clenched his jaw; he refused to be bitter about his situation. What had happened between him and Sam was done, and it had been the best ten minutes of his life. The orgasm had been good too. He would just take a lesson from this and move forward. After all, time travel was no longer an option for him.

He relieved himself, then stretched one last time before reclaiming his seat on the bus. Idaho would be a fresh start, and things would be better from now on.

Unfortunately for Sam, nothing was clearer in the morning. The fatigue was a little better today, and he had taken advantage of it by going for a run first thing. It had exhausted him, but in a normal way that he hadn't felt in far too long. Pushing his body to its limit was a comfort, and the shower after had been nearly heavenly, even as he tried to stop thinking of things in those terms. Dean had left him blessedly alone today, probably as tired of Sam's constant presence as he'd been of Dean insisting on spending time together. It was one thing when they were on the road. There was no helping it then, and the time spent together was comfortable. But here in the bunker, they'd both found solo routines that gave them space they'd never had growing up. Forcing them to be joined at the hip like yesterday was just another tally in the "Dean is acting weird" column. There were an awful lot of tallies there lately.

Still, Dean was back to normal, more or less, today, and Sam had, very maturely, taken advantage of the alone time by holing up in his room. He was definitely not trying to impersonate a teenage girl angsting over whether or not she should call the boy she liked. No. He was being a grown man, concerned over his friend's sudden departure. The fact that he'd been a little bit in love with that friend for years and that said friend had split almost immediately after they shared a sexual encounter didn't factor into it. Sam was pretty sure he was lying to himself. 

After an embarrassing amount of time spent staring at his phone and working up his courage, Sam hit send, dialing Castiel's number. He desperately hoped that Cas hadn't ditched his phone when he left. Listening to the phone ring and waiting for Cas or his voicemail to pick up was a small eternity of torture, but the line finally clicked on. Sam almost began speaking before he realized he'd just gotten Cas's voicemail. Of course. That really wasn't surprising. With the way he'd taken off, it was no surprise Cas didn't want to talk to him. He should have made Dean call. Cas always answered for Dean. No, that wasn't fair, and oh, time to leave a message.

"Hey, Cas. Look, it's Sam. I just wanted to apologize if, um, if there was anything I, uh, said or did, or uh... just, you didn't have to leave. Whatever it is, we can figure it out, ok? Hope you're ok." He punched the end button and buried his face in his hands. That message had been terrible, and he was tempted to call back to see if he could delete it, but of course that was an awful idea. Cas would then see that he had _two_ calls from Sam but no messages, and Sam didn't want to think about the kinds of assumptions he'd make in that case. 

He groaned. "I'm an idiot."

Standing, he abandoned his room and sought out Dean, hoping his brother had found them a case. If not, then he could research one himself. Actually, that. He would do that. And he'd make sure it was something not even Dean could resist, like zombies. Or something involving strippers. Either way, Sam would get to focus on something that wasn't obsessing over Cas for a few days, and if Cas called him back, then he could continue obsessing from there.

Three hours later, he didn't have a case, but he had managed to check his phone for missed calls approximately 500 times. Frustrated with himself, he tossed his phone onto the table and pulled up another browser window. There had to be something supernatural for him to kill somewhere.

"What'd the phone do to you?" Dean asked, standing in the archway, holding two beers. 

"Nothing." Sam didn't comment on the beers. Dean's rule was always that it was 5 o'clock somewhere, and honestly, the drinking had subsided a lot since they'd moved in. 

Apparently, one was for him, though, because Dean set it down next to the laptop before grabbing himself a seat. "You were moping in your room so long, I thought you might need one of these."

Sam rolled his eyes but accepted the peace offering. "I wasn't moping."

Dean nodded sagely. "Uh huh. And has Cas called you yet?"

Sam subtly narrowed his eyes at his brother. That was Dean's casual interrogation voice. "No. Why would he?"

Dean shrugged and frowned at his beer, carefully not meeting Sam's eyes. "Just seemed like you were expecting something. I told you, man, he didn't leave because of you. He left because he didn't want—"

"To bring trouble down on us. Yeah, I remember the spiel," Sam said, picking at the label on his bottle. Privately, he wondered how many times Dean had said this to him, because he had no memory of being told Cas hadn't left because of him, just the part about not bringing angels to them. How much did Dean know?

"Right, well, he didn't, ok?"

Sam nodded his agreement, but even he knew his body language was giving away how little faith he had in that statement. 

Dean didn't elaborate, which Sam was grateful for. He didn't want to try to navigate the Swiss cheese that was his memory of the past few days while talking to Dean about his secret crush on their ex-angel friend. Or maybe not so secret. His eyes landed on his phone, and his fingers itched to grab it, to check if maybe Cas had texted him in the last five minutes. 

He caught Dean watching him with a frown, and he glared back, slamming his laptop closed before retreating back to his room. It was only after he arrived that he realized he'd left the phone on the table.

"I'm coming with you."

Dean paused at the top of the stairs, and Sam thought he was going to throw another excuse their way. Kevin was plenty capable of researching Elamite on his own, though, and Sam needed to talk to Cas. The ex-angel still wasn't returning Sam's calls or texts, and while this case was at least proof of life, Sam needed to see for himself that their friend was all right. With clear reluctance, Dean acquiesced, and Sam followed him out to the car, grabbing his go bag on the way. 

Sam was impressed that Dean managed to refrain from asking until they had crossed state lines, but eventually he did say, "Why is this case so important to you? We're probably not even going to see Cas while we're out there."

Sam frowned, choosing his words carefully. Talking to Dean these days could be a bit of a minefield, though he couldn't quite figure out why. "I need to talk to him. And he hasn't—" Sam cut himself off, not sure how Dean would react to knowing Sam had tried to call Cas several times now and never gotten a response. Or maybe Dean was the reason the calls kept disappearing from his call log. 

"He hasn't what?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam. "What, Sam?"  
  


Sam felt his jaw muscle jump and consciously tried to unclench it. "It's not important."

He knew Dean wasn't going to let it go, and sure enough after a few minutes Dean said, "This isn't about you, all right? I mean, I'm feeling like a broken record here, but he left to protect us. Not because of anything anyone said or did, and definitely not because of you." Dean stared at Sam long enough before continuing that Sam was glad they were on a straight, empty road. "Besides, what could you have possibly done to drive him away in the amount of time it took me to go on a beer run?"

Sam's jaw ached, and he stared stoically out the window. If Dean still had no idea, then Sam wasn't going to enlighten him. That part didn't matter; Sam hadn't been lying. He just needed to make sure that he and Cas were on the same page. 

"Seriously? You aren't even—" Dean heaved a belabored sigh, and Sam rolled his eyes at his over-dramatic brother. "I'm sure whatever it was, it wasn't that bad."

"And you know that how?"

Dean mumbled something unintelligible, and Sam briefly considered filling him in, just to end the painfully awkward conversation.

Of course, saying "I sucked off your best friend, then he bolted and isn't returning my calls" was a pretty awkward statement in and of itself. Better to play the annoyed brother. "I'm sorry, what was that?" He made sure to add a little more bite to his tone than he really felt.

"I said that Cas thinks too much of you to be that easily offended," Dean said, loud enough for Sam to hear this time.

That made no sense. Cas was ignoring him. And he was Dean's friend, not Sam's. They had a whole fight about that a few years ago. Just because Sam thought of him as a friend, hell, as more than a friend, didn't mean anything. Sam felt Dean's eyes on him as his brain tried to make sense of Dean's words. 

"Ok, Sam, it's not that hard. Don't break your brain there. He—" 

Sam blinked, and the world subtly changed. The rolling hills they'd been driving through had vanished, replaced by farms. Cow farms, judging by the smell pervading the Impala right now. He frowned. "He what?"

"Hmm?"

"Cas. He what, Dean?"

"Oh, right. He, uh, you know. He thinks of you as a friend." Dean's voice was falsely cheery, and Sam wanted to cringe at how obvious the lie was.

"Right. Friends. That's why he doesn't ever pick up the phone or text me back." Sam hoped he didn't sound too bitter, but he was sure he hadn't managed to hide that from his voice completely. The pause in the conversation lasted a little too long, and Sam glanced at his brother. Dean was focused so intently on the road that Sam knew something was up. "What?"

Dean didn't answer, just worked his jaw and gripped the wheel a little tighter.

Sam thought about pushing it, but he'd been wanting the conversation to end anyway. So instead, he just turned back to the window and let his eyes fall closed, hoping he'd be able to nap for a few hours before they switched.

When they finally arrived in Idaho the next day, Sam was still feeling exhausted. Maybe he was getting too old to nap in the car, but the sleep he'd gotten yesterday and today just hadn't recharged him the way he expected. It wasn't the first time he'd felt that way, but it seemed like the most random. He thought back to the other days he'd felt more worn out than usual, and they all made sense to some degree. They'd been running around the bunker after the Wicked Witch or he'd been flung across the room by a psychotic reaper. Or he'd been knocked unconscious by a serial killing witch chef. Who asked _what_ Sam was. That was a can of worms he still couldn't completely unpack. He had no idea what had caused the guy to say that.

No. 

He did. 

Here, with the roar of the Impala in his ears and the smell of his childhood home surrounding him, he could at least be honest with himself. As a child he'd done some of his best thinking in this car, and somewhere along the line he'd promised to never lie to himself in here. He knew, at least in part, what had made the witch say what he did. That neck wound had been deep; the amount of blood he'd lost within the first thirty seconds had been proof enough of that, and he didn't have a scratch on him by the end of the evening. He should be dead, again, and somehow, he'd been miraculously healed. It wasn't right, and it didn't make any sense, but Sam didn't know what to make of it. It was just another piece of a very fucked up puzzle, and he didn't like the picture that was emerging. What the hell had the Trials _done_ to him?

Dean pulled into a gas station, and Sam pulled himself out of the car. Maybe a cup of coffee would perk him up. He hated Gas 'n' Sip coffee, but any caffeine was welcome at this point. It would take a while for Dean to fill up the Impala, so Sam took his time browsing the aisles, grabbing some jerky for his brother but passing on road food for himself. Dean had said they were close, and Sam wasn't that hungry. He'd just wait until they found a diner later. Putting his items on the counter, he looked up to greet the cashier and froze. 

Cas. 

The ex-angel was staring back, just as surprised as Sam. After a moment, though, he shook himself and rang up Sam's coffee and the jerky, asking, "Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"Cas?"

"It's Steve, now," Cas said. Sam winced. Cas's voice was clipped, and he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes anymore.

Sam fiddled with the lid on his coffee cup. "Look, Cas, about what—"

They were interrupted by the door opening and Dean's voice calling out, "Sam? What the hell is taking you so long?"

Mentally cursing his brother's impeccably bad timing, Sam dug out his wallet and paid, trying to plead with Cas using only his eyes. 

Spotting Sam at the counter, Dean came over, stopping short when he saw Cas. Sam frowned at his brother, unsure why he suddenly looked simultaneously nervous and annoyed. "Hey, Cas," Dean said.

"It's Steve," Sam said, helpfully, pointing to Cas's name tag bearing his new name.

"Right. What are you doing here?"

Cas bristled. "I work here. It's not much, but it's better than a lot of people have." 

Sam tried to find the words to ask why Cas had left, why he hadn't answered the phone, why he was working in a gas station of all things, but of course, what came out of his mouth was, “So, are you coming with us?" 

“Sammy, come on. The man is busy. Of course he doesn’t want to come with us,” Dean said, voice full of false confidence that meant Sam was on the right track.

Unfortunately, Cas didn’t get that memo. “Dean is right, Sam. Besides, without my powers—”

“No, Cas. Look. You said you were a hunter-in-training, right? And Dean and I don’t have any powers. We’re just people. Who better to help you learn to hunt like a human?” Sam plastered a smile on his face, praying Cas would relent and come with them.

He could see the moment Cas changed his mind in the way his shoulders relaxed very slightly. Nodding, Cas said, “All right. My shift ends in ten minutes.

Having Cas along had ended up being invaluable, since he’d been able to identify the monster for them. There wasn’t more they could do that night, though, so they were grabbing dinner at a bar near the motel (Dean’s choice). They settled themselves at a high top, and Dean vanished for a minute to grab the first round of beer. Sam cleared his throat, wishing he knew how to get rid of Dean reliably for more than a minute or two, but his brother had been a damn barnacle all day. Any time Sam had tried to find a moment alone with Cas to try and talk about what had happened between them Dean had inserted himself into their conversation. It had happened enough times now that he suspected it was intentional. But the bar was crowded enough that even Dean's charisma wasn't going to be able to get him a round of drinks in less than ten minutes, so Sam seized his opportunity. 

"So, Cas. Um." He ducked his head, embarrassed and unsure how to begin this conversation. He supposed the only way was to just...begin. "Look, I don't know why you left so suddenly, but I can guess. And I want to apologize. I thought we were on the same page when— when I— when we— Anyway. When you didn't return any of my messages, I figured I was wrong, and I didn't want you thinking that I was expecting anything beyond the one time. I know I'm not— not good enough. But that doesn't mean you had to leave. Especially not with angels on your ass. I know Dean said you left because you didn't want to bring trouble to us, but that's crazy. You're warded, we're warded, and the whole bunker is warded so heavily I still haven't figured out what half of it even does! It's obviously the safest place for you to be, so the only reason I can think of that you left is because of me. And I just— It wasn't necessary. And you should come back." He heaved a breath, aware of how much word vomit he'd just spewed all over his friend and afraid of what Cas's stunned silence might mean. 

Then he blinked, and Cas was gone.

Castiel felt his confusion growing deeper the longer Sam talked. What messages? What could he mean about not being good enough? Sam was one of the best humans he knew. It was he who was not good enough. Sam had made his share of mistakes in the past, of course, but Castiel knew the mistakes he'd made himself were so much worse. Never mind the mistakes he'd made in the past in regards to Sam specifically. But none of that changed the fact that he'd been checking his phone hourly for days in the hope that one of the Winchesters would contact him, and it had remained painfully silent. He had never received a single message from Sam.

A moment after Sam paused for breath, Cas learned why.

Sam's eyes flashed blue, and Castiel felt terror. Not even his experience with April had garnered this much fear in him. Sam would never agree to let an angel possess him, not again, which meant this angel, whoever it was, was one more unscrupulous than even Lucifer. 

"You should leave, Castiel, if you truly care about this one."

"Who are you?" he replied, his voice hard. 

The angel didn't even acknowledge the question. "You are a danger to these humans, which means you are a danger to me. Am I wrong when I say you care for Sam?"

"What are you doing in him? He would never—"

"And yet he said yes. But he is still very weak. If I left him now—"

"Whoa, whoa, Zeke. No one is leaving anyone, ok?" Dean said, appearing at Cas's elbow with three beers in hand. "Cas, let's take a walk."

"Dean—"

"I'm not asking." 

Cas looked up, horrified, but saw only determination in Dean's eyes. With a glare at the angel possessing his friend, he stood from the table and walked off. He heard Dean say something softly enough that he couldn't be talking to Cas, then they were walking together out into the parking lot.

"Cas—"

"What have you done?" Cas asked, whirling on Dean. 

Dean growled. "I did what I had to. You weren't there. Sammy was—" He breathed deep, closing his eyes and collecting himself. "Sam was dying, Cas. If I didn't do something, then I was going to lose him. For good. Zeke offered to help, but he couldn't heal him. They were both too weak."

Castiel frowned. "You said the angel Ezekiel helped him. Who is Zeke—" His eyes widened in understanding. "Dean, that is _not_ Ezekiel. He would never possess a vessel without that person's knowledge or threaten his vessel's life in the interest of his own safety. I don't know who that is in Sam, but he is not the angel I vouched for."

"What?"

Cas fought the urge to roll his eyes. "He feels threatened by my presence, so I assume this is the reason you asked me to leave? And also why Sam seems to believe that I left by choice?"

Dean had the decency to look sheepish. "I don't know what he's so afraid of, Cas, but he's definitely afraid of the other angels."

He considered his next words carefully. "I can't recognize him without my grace. But, Dean, why haven't you told Sam? How did this happen?"

"He was in a coma. I had to make a call, so I made it."

"And now?" Cas pressed. 

Dean shrugged. "I didn't tell him at first because I was afraid he'd reject Zeke and die. And now... Well, he might be strong enough, I don't know. It's kind of tough to gauge."

"But this angel keeps telling you Sam is not strong enough? And, what? He threatens to abandon Sam if he knows?"

"Something like that." Dean's voice was grim, understandably so. "Cas?" He was hesitant, like he wasn't sure he wanted an answer to whatever question he was about to ask. "When Sam started the Trials, you told us you couldn't heal him." He stopped, unable to voice the question that had obviously been haunting him for weeks.

"I don't know. It's possible that the Trials themselves were somehow blocking my ability to heal the damage. Stopping them prematurely may have allowed for it. Regardless, Dean, you have to tell him. Sam deserves to know." 

Dean shook his head, already denying Cas's words. "He could die."

The thought was painful in a way that Castiel was only starting to understand, but he spoke with conviction. "He should make that choice for himself. It isn't our place to make it for him."

Cas saw a single tear escape Dean's closed eyes before he said, "You don't understand."

"No? I'm the one who attempted to pull him from the Cage because—" Cas looked away. "I didn't do it for your sake or the world's, no matter what I've told myself."

Dean was adamant, though. "I can't risk it. Just a little longer, and Zeke will have him healed."

"And then?"

"And then he leaves."

Squinting at Dean, Cas wondered how his deeply paranoid friend could be so naive and trusting about something like this. "He has already lied to you about his identity, Dean, and I suspect he is altering Sam's memories, preventing him from contacting me. What makes you believe that he is not lying about this too? At any moment he could kill Sam, and I don't mean by leaving his body. I know it's easy to forget, but angels, even weakened ones, are powerful."

He watched Dean struggle with the implications of what he'd done to his brother—at least _some_ of the implications. Finally, he nodded and said, "What do we do?"

Sam searched the bar frantically, looking for any sign of Cas or Dean. The only trace of them were the beers on the table that hadn't been there before, but they looked untouched. His brother and ex-angel had vanished into thin air, and that was the moment he knew he was really losing it. Though he briefly considered the idea that Cas had flown Dean somewhere he dismissed the idea quickly. Cas didn't have wings, and that didn't explain the beers or how Sam could blink and lose two people. Between that and all the other little instances of...blankness over the last several weeks he wasn't sure what he could even trust anymore. Something was wrong with him, seriously wrong, and he needed to figure out what. 

It was like there were moments when he just wasn't present, though clearly the world and his body continued on without his mind being open for business. Oh, god. What if Cas hadn't been able to heal the damage from the Trials because it had been soul-deep? He felt ok now, but he also wasn't glowing anymore. Maybe the moments where he blanked out were really his soul flickering in and out of existence. The thought of being that person again, that monster, was terrifying, and he felt his gut clench in fear. He was just starting to really panic when he spotted Dean reentering the bar looking haggard. No sign of Cas, though, and a spike of fear he couldn't identify flashed through him. 

Making his way over to his brother, he let all of his concern show on his face. "Dean?"

Startled, Dean looked up at him before running a hand down his face and answering. "Cas had to take off. Wanted me to apologize to you for bolting like that."

Sam clenched his jaw, holding in the things he really wanted to say. This wasn't the place. "Right. You ready to head out?" If things were ok, then Dean would deny it, citing concerns over wasting the untouched alcohol back at their table. 

"Yeah, sounds great."

Crap.

Through the rest of the case, Sam tried to figure out how to ask Dean what the hell he'd said to Cas to run him off or to bring up his theory about the soul damage, but both of those conversations meant coming clean to Dean about how much time he was missing. It wasn't a fun prospect, and Sam was avoiding it. He could already hear Dean's accusations of hiding things from him, and he wasn't sure he could stand another reminder of some of his bigger failings in the past. It didn't matter what Dean had said in that church, Sam knew Dean hadn't magically forgotten about Purgatory or the demon blood. Never mind the Apocalypse. Failing to close the gates of Hell would probably be gracing the list at some point, and he just wasn't ready to have that thrown in his face too. And if not that, then it would take the form of doing the Trials in Dean's place, and he wouldn't apologize for that. It had been a miserable few months in a lot of ways, and he wouldn't have wished it on Dean. That was a different fight brewing, and he'd avoid it as long as he could. He'd avoid all the fights with Dean if he could manage it.

It was easy enough to push his concerns away in the wake of vaporizing people, at least until they managed to confront the angel responsible. Sam had zero memory of the fight. One moment they'd been flanking the guy, and the next he was waking up in the car, engine thrumming as it ate up the miles. It didn't feel like he was hurt, which meant this was a longer than usual blackout. It was dark, so he'd been out at least eight hours. A glance at Dean revealed a haunted look, which turned Sam's stomach. There had probably been casualties, then. Or Sam had said something that revealed his soulless nature and Dean was quietly freaking out. At this point either scenario was equally likely.

He quietly cleared his throat, bracing himself for the inevitable fight. "What happened?"

Dean frowned, taking his eyes off the road as he looked over at Sam. "Sam?" he asked.

"Last thing I remember we were flanking what's-his-name." He stole a glance at his brother, not entirely sure what reaction that revelation was going to provoke.

Whatever he might have been expecting, it wasn't for Dean's face to go carefully blank as he lied. "You got knocked out. I took care of the guy."

Sam nodded, though he was not at all mollified. "And you've just been driving around with me in the passenger seat, unconscious. Again." He sighed. "Dean, what really happened?"

"What are you talking about?" His voice was high, false. It grated on Sam.

"Look, if I'd been knocked out, I'd at least have a headache. You know, like every other time I've been knocked out in my life. And I'd be waking up in the car, so I'd be slouched down, probably with a crick in my neck and a sore back. I don't have any of those things, just a black hole in my memory. I was coming around the guy's left; I blinked, and now I'm here." He watched Dean expectantly. 

Dean shifted, obviously uncomfortable. "You don't remember any of it?"

Sam shook his head. "And it's not the first time something like this has happened. It's like sometimes I'm just not _here_ , you know? Like my body is out doing things without me." He paused, wondering if he should add his suspicions and deciding that if he was going to confess to Dean, then now was as good a time as any. "Like when I was soulless."

That definitely got a reaction from Dean. "What?! What the hell are you talking about, Sam?" he spluttered, staring at Sam with an expression of... something. Something between fury and fear.

"Do you have a better explanation? Because I don't. I mean, you're right. The Trials messed me up. Maybe we're just now finding out how bad." He was trying to pitch his voice to be calm, but he wasn't sure if it was working, given the pained expression on Dean's face.

It took a minute of Dean working his mouth before any words actually came out. When they did, it sounded a little like Dean was being tortured. "You aren't soulless, Sam."

He waited for Dean to elaborate.

"We'll figure this out, ok? Maybe take you to a hospital, get your head checked out since you're just now telling me you're having trouble remembering things. How long has that been happening, by the way?"

Sam thought about telling him about the neck wound that should have killed him, but decided against it. No need to piss Dean off more. And hey, maybe a hospital was the right call here. "Practically since I woke up in the Impala after the angels fell," he whispered, not wanting to admit to his brother how long he'd been avoiding the topic.

Dean clenched his jaw but didn't say anything. 

"Sorry," Sam said, wishing he'd managed to avoid disappointing Dean one more time.

Castiel sat at the library table across from Kevin and poured over yet another book about angels. Most of it was wrong, as they all were, and he scrawled some notes to go back and annotate it later, when Sam wasn't in mortal danger. There were a few salient points that were correct, but he wasn't sure any of them were relevant. Kevin was attempting to translate the angel tablet, with similar amounts of success. Frustrated and knowing that the Winchesters were likely to be home in a day or two, Cas abandoned the Men of Letters books and turned to his firsthand knowledge of angels. Cradling his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and thought. There was the banishing sigil, which took the vessel along for the ride. There was a sigil that would theoretically allow them to talk to Sam without the angel listening, but he wasn't confident in his ability to accurately reproduce it. He wracked his brain. In his long life, he'd never so badly needed to know how to banish an angel from its vessel like a common demon. 

He lifted his head. An exorcism. An _angelic_ exorcism. It had been years ago, and he couldn't remember the words—had never even heard all the words— but Alistair had attempted to exorcise him shortly before Sam had killed the demon. "Kevin," he said, urgency making him sharper than he would normally be. "Look for an exorcism. Anything like an exorcism."

"Those exist for angels?" Kevin asked, sounding perhaps more surprised than he should be.

Cas nodded, though, excited to finally have a possible lead. "I'll try to remember the words that I heard, though I admit I was rather distracted at the time." When Kevin raised his eyebrows in question, he added, "I was being exorcised."

They returned to their respective books, though this time Castiel began looking for anything with a reference to Alistair. If the demon knew how to exorcise an angel, then perhaps it had come up in a human's dealings with him at some point. A moment later, he paused. If one demon knew how to exorcise an angel, perhaps more did as well. Crowley was abhorrent, but in this he might actually be helpful. Not that Castiel trusted him, and he'd be even harder pressed to know when the demon was lying now that Castiel was human.

He debated a while before checking on Kevin. The teen was hunched over the angel tablet and his notes, obviously struggling to parse Metatron's notes. Castiel considered going to Crowley again. It was possible that the demon could help, in a number of ways. He could translate the Elamite that Kevin had translated the tablet into, for starters, eliminating the need for Kevin to continue to slave over his translation. But, if the demon ever got free, then giving him that kind of knowledge was dangerous and irresponsible. If they could trap the angel possessing Sam, Crowley could "hack" him using the technique he'd used on Gadreel. That was almost worse. The thought of allowing Crowley to damage Sam in that way when Cas couldn't heal him afterward turned his stomach. Definitely not, unless they were completely out of options. And last, of course, was simply asking. It had the downside of letting Crowley know there even was an angelic exorcism, assuming he didn't know. No. Things weren't that desperate yet, and Castiel resolved that they weren't going to get there. The risks were too high, when they had not exhausted all of their other options.

Closing his eyes, he tried to recall that fight. 

_He heard fighting in the next room and ran in, seeing Alistair choking Dean. Grabbing the demon knife off the table, Castiel flew at the demon. His attack would have landed true, killing Alistair, if the demon hadn’t turned at the last moment. Even using his grace to manipulate the knife did little more than make the demon angry, though._

_They traded blows until Alistair managed to get the upper hand. Impaled on a hook bolted to the pillar, Castiel was forced to listen to Hell’s head torturer taunt him, then threaten to send him back to Heaven. Then he began the exorcism._

_“_ Omnipotentis Dei potestatem invoco. Omnipotentis Dei potestatem invoco. Ab orbe terra—”

_After that, the words had sounded like ringing in Castiel’s ears, and nothing had made sense until Sam appeared, stopping Alistair in his tracks._

He managed to write down a few words that could narrow the search for Kevin. Unfortunately, Cas's Elamite was extremely rusty as a human, and studying the language had only made it worse. So, he stayed away from the translation efforts himself. Sighing, he tore out the page and added it to Kevin's notes, then pulled a book about demons closer. 

Dean wasn't leaving him alone, and it was starting to freak Sam out. They'd gotten back from Idaho two days ago, and while he hadn't seen Kevin or heard from Cas, Dean had become his damn shadow. Everything Sam did was apparently fascinating, and it was all he could do to use the bathroom in peace. At first, he'd thought he'd just freaked Dean out with his admission in the car, but as one day had stretched into two and seemed to be stretching into a third, he began to fear he'd _really_ freaked Dean out. His brother always had an explanation, but Sam was noticing other things that were odd too.

The day after they'd returned, Sam had noticed that there were a number of books incorrectly shelved in the library, and after he'd bullied Dean into fixing the problem (since he was hanging around anyway) Sam discovered that half a dozen books were missing. Once they'd finished the library organization, Dean had propped open the laptop to watch something that Sam prayed wasn't porn but distracted him enough that Sam could investigate which books were missing. He didn't exactly have the library memorized, but it was a near thing. But the card catalog that the Men of Letters had created and Sam had maintained let him generate a list of missing titles without too much trouble. Once he had that, things were easier. Two he recognized as books Kevin had been using to help translate the angel tablet. Easy enough explanation for where those had gone, then. The rest were books on demons and exorcism rituals, which made no sense at all. Unless Kevin was trying to exorcise Crowley? Or wanted one that was likely to work on the King of Hell just in case? Frustrated and confused, he put the puzzle away for now. It was something that wasn't urgent, and he could turn it over in his mind later when he was trying and failing to sleep. 

Also, Dean was weirdly distant, even while he was being extremely clingy. Like watching porn in the library while Sam fiddled with the card catalog, or constantly messing around on his phone while Sam made himself a smoothie or read a book or got ready for a run. And then going on that run _with Sam_ , but like, just in his regular jeans and flannel. He'd insisted that it made more sense because no monster was going to wait for him to change clothes or warm up first, and while yes, they had trained like that on occasion as kids, that wasn't why Sam was running now. That run, in particular, had been to do the one activity he'd been sure Dean wouldn't tag along on, but no luck. Dean had actually tried to make Sam turn around early, claiming he was too hot and running was for losers, but finished the three miles when Sam refused. And instead of bitching about how tired he was for the rest of the day, he'd just shut up about it and stared at his phone some more. 

He still hadn't figured out the book mystery by day three, when Dean finally stopped distracting him from going down to the archives. One of the books was there, discarded on a table as though it had been used recently, though he had no memory of doing so or seeing Dean with it. Shrugging, he put it away and set about finding them a new case. Maybe there would be something with cheerleaders. Or zombies. Something that could cheer Dean up and help him be a little less freaked out by his mess of a brother. 

Only, when he went to retrieve his laptop from the kitchen, he didn't get very far. Dean had followed him into the archive room, holding a runed pair of handcuffs. Sam frowned, backing away out of instinct. Dean just looked so sad, but determined, and the combination was enough to send a thrill of fear running through Sam. "Dean?" he asked as he backed up enough that he bumped into the wall behind him.

"Sorry, Sammy, but I don't have a choice. I thought I might, that we were out of the woods, but I was wrong. There's something wrong with you, and I need to take care of it."

Sam's stomach churned. On the one hand, Dean was hunting him for reasons he didn't entirely understand. On the other, something clicked into place for Sam that felt undeniably _right_ about this whole scenario. Because, really, he'd been waiting for this moment for years.

He swallowed, closed his eyes. "What are you going to do?"

"What I should have done ages ago. What you begged me to do, once upon a time," Dean said, voice hard but not malicious. He sounded resigned, liked he genuinely regretted having to do this.

Sam breathed out a shaky laugh. "So much for figuring this out together, huh?"

"If it makes you feel any better, Sam, I don't want to do this."

Sam nodded, studying the floor near his feet. It was a smooth cement, but somehow the archives had never felt cold; he wondered how the Men of Letters had managed that. Maybe they'd used magic. No, he needed to think. Maybe he could get past Dean and make a run for the door. Only he was never going to do that. Even if he had no idea why Dean thought his missing memories warranted his death now, of all times, he accepted it. It was inevitable. Things were always going to end this way between them and oh god. Dean must think there was a fucking demon in him. That explained the books about exorcisms and demons, the memory loss, everything. Even the way Dean wouldn't let him out of his sight. He didn't think he had a demon inside, but he couldn't be sure, could he. He had the tattoo, but had they ever actually put that to the test before? He had no idea. Things before Hell got kind of fuzzy. Maybe they worked like devil traps, letting demons in but not out. It would make a terrible anti-possession charm if it worked that way, but hunters, even Bobby, had been wrong about plenty of things over the years.

He squeezed his eyes shut, found his center before opening them and meeting Dean's eyes. "It's ok, Dean. I understand." Except his body didn't get the memo. As it turned out, being resigned to his fate did very little to subdue Sam's survival instincts. When Dean got within arm's reach, Sam lashed out, using his long legs to sweep his brother's legs out from under him. It was a move that caught them both by surprise, and Sam found himself staring down at Dean, laid out on the floor. 

Moves like that never worked when they sparred, but Sam didn't have time to question his luck. He delivered one hard punch to Dean's head, knocking his brother out cold. Sam stumbled his way through an apology to Dean as he made his escape from the bunker. 

Sam looked around his little apartment. It was a studio, and he didn't have any money to furnish it yet, so all he had for decorations were his sleeping bag and his duffel of clothes that he'd grabbed on his way out. He lived in a plain white box with beige carpet. It was hideous, and he hated it. But it was all he could afford for the moment, and he didn't dare use one of the credit cards he had. Dean could track those and find him. Sam shook his head. He should let Dean find him. Even if his brother had gone off the deep end and wanted to murder Sam, Sam knew it was for the best. Something really was wrong with him, and Dean had known about it. Dean had been trying to fix it. _Except you haven't lost time once since you left, have you? Isn't that interesting?_ Sam shut his eyes against the voice in his head. He needed to get to work.

Construction wasn't glamorous, but it was something he was good at. Sam may have preferred books to manual labor, but there was a satisfaction in making something with his hands, having a physical object that existed because of the work he'd done. It also helped that he liked the crew he was working with. He'd only been there a week, but he already felt like he was making friends. 

"Sam! A couple of the guys are going out for beers tonight. You in?" 

Sam turned from the plank he'd been measuring to see who was talking to him. It took a moment to place the blonde's name, but he was pretty sure it was Zeke. The guy was friendly, and he'd made a point of introducing himself to Sam on his first day. This was already the second time he'd invited Sam out for drinks with the guys. The first time Sam had declined, not sure how long he was going to be in the area and not wanting to make ties to people that Dean could interview later. Three days later, well, Sam was just too tired to keep moving. He was planning to stay here until Dean caught his trail, so making friends had a lot more merit. Friends might lie to his brother for him. And the thought of going back to his barren apartment was too depressing to think about. So he nodded, grinning when Zeke slapped him on the back. 

Sam leaned on the bar, wiping condensation from the bottle of beer he was nursing. The night had started out easy enough. This wasn't the first time he'd made friends among civilians, and the routine of telling just enough truth to them came back easily enough. The truth was easier to remember than a lie, after all, and a partial truth aroused less curiosity and suspicion than not talking about himself at all. He said as little as he could get away with, of course, and years of living with Dean had given him plenty of practice in deflecting. So it came as a surprise when he was faced with a question he wasn't sure how to not answer. He'd been asking polite questions of the guys, getting a feel for them and their lives. Where he might fit in the group. Then someone, possibly George, had asked if he had a girlfriend. 

His mind stuttered over the memory of Jess before he managed to answer, smoothly as he could, "No, no girlfriend." 

Something in his answer had alerted the others to his discomfort though, because Mike had almost immediately followed up with, "How about a boyfriend?" and Sam watched a dozen eyes swing his way, waiting expectantly for his answer. 

He didn't sense judgement from them, at least, which surprised him a little. A group of construction workers didn't seem like the easiest group to come out to. But these guys seemed like they'd be cool with it, and he found himself saying, "He's not a boyfriend." Immediately, Sam felt the tips of his ears heat as his eyes widened in panic.

The guys just laughed, and Mike had prodded, "So, tell us about this 'not a boyfriend.'"

Zeke and Mike helped him maneuver the couch into his tiny studio apartment. It was Sam's first big purchase for his place, though he probably should have invested in a bed. Or at least a pullout couch. The one he'd purchased had been second hand, but it was long enough that he was pretty sure he would still fit, so hopefully it wouldn't hurt his back when he tried sleeping on it tonight. Two weeks on the floor hadn't done him any favors. 

Once the couch was in place, all three guys collapsed on it. Zeke piped up, "Planning to invite your 'not boyfriend' over?"

Mike said, "Yeah, why isn't he here helping you move your Sasquatch furniture into this place?"

Sam didn't answer right away, just tried to shove down the emotion the teasing had stirred up. It had been a long time since someone had called him Sasquatch. And the guys already knew a version of why Cas wasn't here helping. As far as they knew, Sam had had a falling out with his brother, and the "not a boyfriend" had been his brother's best friend. All true, though Sam knew Cas would have spoken to him if he tried calling. That, of course, was too dangerous. Still, Sam wondered if Cas worried about him, or if Dean had convinced him, too, that Sam had to die. He missed his angel. 

**One week ago:**

Castiel watched Dean approach Sam in the archive room. The plan was for Dean to distract Sam long enough for Cas to say the exorcism. If Dean could get the angel cuffs on Sam, so much the better. There was also a ring of holy oil in the room, but Sam hadn't stepped into it yet. They needed to keep the angel inside Sam from flying away before the exorcism could work. 

"Sam, look, we need to talk," Dean said, hand reaching into his pocket with the angel cuffs. 

From his hiding place, Cas could see Sam's eyes flash blue, and he knew they were out of time. He burst into the room, already chanting.

Dean, cuffs in hand, lunged for his brother's wrist. He tried to use his weight to push Sam into the ring of oil, but Sam didn't budge. Not surprising, really. Sam reared back, landing a solid punch on Dean before he noticed Castiel. Cas continued chanting, trying to remember the words and not worry that it didn't seem to be affecting Sam at all yet. Rage darkened Sam's face, and Cas briefly wondered if the angel would kill him now. He didn't, instead throwing another punch that caught Cas across the temple, knocking him out cold. 

Castiel accepted the bag of frozen peas from Dean and gingerly placed them against his swollen eye. He missed his ability to heal such mundane wounds instantly.

"Any more bright ideas?" Dean asked.

Cas flinched away from the scathing tone in his friend's voice. Cas's exorcism hadn't worked, and now Sam was gone. The angel had stolen him. "Now we focus on finding him."

Dean slumped in his seat, all energy gone. "I have no idea how to do that."

Cas shrugged, wincing. "I would say that my lack of powers makes it more difficult, but the sigils on Sam's ribs would protect him from finding him anyway."

Dean frowned. "He still has those? I figured they were healed when he got back from Hell, like the rest of his scars."

"He asked me to replace them some time ago. I believe he was afraid of hostile angels being able to find him." 

Dean ran a hand down his face, weariness evident in his eyes. Cas could relate. He was exhausted, and he was struggling to maintain hope. With Sam in the wind, the chances of finding him were slim at best. If the angel chose to live a quiet life, then they may never find him. 

Cas reread the news article. This was it, the break they'd been looking for. A man fitting Sam's description had saved three children from a burning building. There was no picture as the man had asked to remain anonymous, but Cas was sure. Perhaps this angel wasn't entirely a bad seed after all. Or perhaps he'd returned control to Sam. Then again, if that were true, surely Sam would have made contact. Right? Of course he would. In any case, he knew how his brother would worry otherwise. 

"Dean!" Cas called. "We have a case!"

The drive only took an hour. The angel, if it was the angel, had stayed close to the bunker for reasons neither Dean nor Cas could fathom. They were just grateful. 

The Impala rolled up to the newspaper offices, and Dean said, "Moment of truth."

"Let me." Cas met Dean's eyes, pleading silently to be the one to find Sam. Dean rolled his eyes and gestured to the door, and Cas got out of the car.

Cas showed Sam's picture to the journalist who had written the article and held his breath while she studied it. 

"Yeah, this is the guy. Why are you guys looking for him anyway?"

While Cas still did not excel at lying, this was a question he'd been prepared for. "He's a friend, but we've been out of touch for a long time. When I saw the story—"

She smiled, and Cas was forcibly reminded of Sam. She even shared his deep dimples. His heart ached at his loss. Digging through her desk drawer, she produced a business card and handed it over. "Here. He left his number in case I had follow-up questions." Her smile softened, and Cas tilted his head in combined confusion and gratitude. When she sighed and lamented, "All the good ones, I swear," Cas knew he was never going to figure out humans. There were too many cultural references for him to ever get a handle on them.

So he pretended he hadn't heard that part, simply saying, "Thank you."

"Dean, we can't call him."

"Why not?"

Cas rolled his eyes at his friend. "You know why. The angel possessing Sam would immediately flee, and we would be back at square one."

Dean shrugged. "I'm not sure we have a better idea. Unless you think that reporter lady would help us out."

"I'm not sure. She seemed eager for me to reconnect with Sam at first, but she became rather wistful by the end of our exchange. I believe there was some amount of subtext I did not understand."

Dean made Cas go through the conversation again, verbatim, until Dean burst out laughing. "Oh my God, Cas, she thinks you and Sammy are an item!"

Cas frowned. "An item of what?"

Dean clutched his stomach as tears rolled down his face. "Like a couple. Sleeping together or something."

"Dean, when would I have had the opportunity to sleep with Sam? I did not stay in the bunker even one night."

  
  


Castiel watched the angel handcuffed to the chair in the library warily. It hadn't revealed anything yet, not even its name. It had made a number of threats to Sam's general well-being but, as far as Cas could tell, hadn't acted on them yet. He tried once more to convince the angel to talk. "Why did you pretend to be Ezekiel?"

Nothing. 

"Why did you agree to heal me, if you are so threatened by my existence?"

A pained look crossed Sam's face, but the angel still didn't respond. 

Castiel wasn't sure what more they could do that didn't threaten Sam's welfare. They may have to accept that they would never have the answers they sought. 

Dean obviously wasn't so ready to give in. "I trusted you, Zeke. And you lied to me."

"Only about my name," he said, finally breaking his silence.

Dean and Cas shared a look. Dean said, "Ok then, what's your name? And try not to lie to me this time."

The angel laughed condescendingly. "What difference does it make? You have decided I'm not trustworthy, and I have all of Sam's memories of what that means. Regardless of my answer, I know you will not believe me." 

"What about me, brother? Do Sam's memories of me tell you that I will not believe you as well?"

The look that crossed Sam's face was conflicted, but he said, "You have hurt him in unspeakable ways. And then used your power to kill hundreds of angels. Despite all that, he trusts you. Why? I have been trying to understand that for some time now."

Castiel made a pained noise before answering. "I have wondered that many times myself. It is certainly true that I do not deserve his trust and forgiveness."

"And yet you have it and more." The angel shook Sam's head in disbelief as Cas felt a thrill at the words. "I had hoped that I could learn from him, from you. Learn to have what you have."

Cas narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Brother—"

"Gadreel."

Cas froze, and he heard Dean asking, "What? Cas, what did he just say?"

"His name. This is Gadreel, the angel who let Lucifer into the Garden, who has been imprisoned in Heaven's jail ever since." Castiel faltered. Gadreel had been hated by angels for millenia, blamed for God's departure and Lucifer's downfall. But was he so different? Castiel was surely one of the most hated angels now, so much so that even Gadreel was afraid to be associated with him. He'd been tricked, as Gadreel had once. However he felt, Gadreel deserved to be forgiven his original fault. But his possession of Sam could not continue as it was. He turned to his brother. "You and I were both tricked by unscrupulous angels. We know how it feels to trust, and to have that trust used against us. Sam Winchester deserved better than that, but it's not too late to fix your mistake. Tell him the truth, or allow us to tell him. He should be given the same choice all humans have before they become vessels."

Gadreel pursed his lips. "He will reject me, and then he will die. Slowly. I have healed much of the damage done to him, but there is much left. There have been...setbacks."

Everyone present knew exactly why Sam would never again agree to be possessed. It didn't matter that he was dying, or that this had been the only way to save his life. It didn't matter now that he would likely die a slow, painful death. He deserved the choice. The least they could do was trust him to choose to live. 

Gadreel glanced at Dean, as though asking him permission. Cas didn't look back, but Dean must have nodded, because Gadreel said, "I will tell him. Perhaps he will surprise us."

"Sam."

Sam looked up from his book. "Zeke. Hey, what...are you doing here?"

His new friend shifted uncomfortably. "I have a confession to make." He paused for barely a moment before barreling forward, words spilling from his mouth like hail, breaking and wounding everything in their path. "I am an angel, Sam Winchester, and I have been possessing you for the last six weeks. You were dying, and your brother asked for my help. This was the only way for me to do that. I am sorry for the deception, but you are still seriously injured, and I was afraid you would reject my presence if you knew the truth."

No. No nononono. "If you're possessing me, then how are we talking?" Sam asked, tamping down his growing panic as best he could.

Zeke looked upset, which did nothing to ease his fear. "We are inside your head." 

Sam fought to control his breathing, on the edge of hyperventilating. "What did you do?"

"You are unwell. I was attempting to protect you, to give myself a chance to finish healing you."

Shaking with combined fury and dread, Sam said, "What did you do to me? Where am—where is my body?"

"You are in the bunker, with Castiel and your brother."

Sam breathed a small laugh that sounded more bitter than anything else. "Of course I am. How long? How much of my memory is fake?"

"Sam—"

"No. You've been rooting around in here for who knows how long now. You should _know_ why I'm mad." He shook his head in painful disbelief. "Get out."

Zeke looked taken aback at Sam's tone, though he seemed unsurprised at his words. When he answered, his tone was even, maybe a little sad. "You will die."

Sam snarled. "Get _out!"_

And he went, in a blinding flash of light.

When Cas could see again, Sam was slumped in the chair, unconscious. Dean was already checking for a pulse, and Cas felt his heart jackrabbit in fear. Sam couldn't be dead. They had known the risk of telling Sam the truth was that he would expel Gadreel, but Cas wasn't prepared for the worst-case outcome. 

Dean muttered, "Come on, Sammy. Wake up, little brother," as he patted Sam's cheek. "Come on, man, don't do this to me."

Cas's heart was in his throat until he heard Sam groan, "Dean?"

Dean and Cas both slumped in relief that was too short-lived. Sam tried to stand, only to realize he was cuffed to his chair. He immediately began to struggle, blind panic written across his face. 

"Whoa, Sam! Calm down! Cas, give me a hand here!" Dean barked. 

Cas snatched up the handcuff key from the library table and hurried to Sam's side. "Please relax, Sam. You are going to injure yourself if you continue to struggle," he murmured, hoping that his low rumble might have a chance at calming Sam where his brother's shouting was failing. 

"Cas?" Sam asked, pausing briefly in his flailing.

"Yeah, Sammy. Cas is undoing the handcuffs, ok? You're ok. You're safe now."

Cas cursed himself as he fumbled the key, taking far longer than should be necessary to unlock Sam's wrists. 

"What happened?" Sam asked.

Before Dean even answered, Cas could hear him preparing to lie about the whole thing, so he spoke up first. "You were dying, and an angel agreed to help you. The angel lied to Dean, and you were tricked into saying yes. You've been secretly possessed for the last few months, and the angel completely took over one week ago. Dean and I tracked him down and captured him. You've just expelled him. Am I missing anything, Dean?"

"Sugar coat it, why don't you," Dean grumbled.

"Dean?" Sam said. 

Dean sighed. "Yeah, that about sums it up. How much do you remember?"

"From when? How long was—?"

A pained look crossed Dean's face. "Since the end of the Trials. You were dying, and I couldn't exactly ask you for your opinion."

Sam's eyes widened in shock. "That whole time I thought I was going crazy. You were being weird, but I thought it was my imagination. But _you knew_. How—?" He heaved a shaky breath. "How could you?"

"Sam, I am not going to apologize for saving you. I can't. You know that." 

Sam shook his head in denial. "Get out." 

For a moment, everything was silent as all three held their breath after Sam's quiet order. Finally, Dean said, "What?"

"You tricked me because you knew what I would say. And then you didn't have the decency to even _tell me_ once I was up and walking around. When I thought I was losing my mind, or— Jesus, Dean. After everything, you— I can't. I need some time. So please. Get. Out."

Dean rocked back on his heels as if Sam's words had struck a physical blow. His mouth opened, as if to say something in reply, but then it clicked shut, and Dean silently stalked out of the room.

Sam slumped in the chair, head hanging low. "God, Cas, did you know too?"

"I learned of your possession two weeks ago." Cas backed away from his friend, wishing he could help, could make this right.

"Two weeks. Why didn't you say anything?" Sam's bitter tone stung. He was looking to do damage with his words, and he was succeeding.

Cas swallowed, looking away. "Gadreel threatened you if I did not leave immediately. As soon as I could, I contacted Dean, and Kevin and I have been working to rectify the situation. But I understand if you would like me to leave as well." Without waiting for Sam's reply, Cas turned away, planning to go to his room and pack a bag. He was shocked when a large, calloused hand gripped his wrist, halting him.

"Stay." Their eyes met, and Sam's were brimming with unshed tears. "Please."

Castiel wrapped his hand around his mug of coffee, relishing the gentle warmth seeping through the ceramic. He took a deep breath, letting the rich smell wash over him and remind him of happier days. Sam would be awake soon, and he would want to finish the conversation they had started weeks ago, when Gadreel had made himself known. For a moment, though, Cas was going to enjoy the calm of the quiet kitchen and try not to worry about the possible directions that conversation could go.

His peace was interrupted by Sam shuffling into the kitchen. Sam looked exhausted, as though the last ten hours of sleep hadn't left him with any more energy than he'd started with. His hair, usually soft and styled no matter what time of day Castiel encountered the brothers, was a frizzy mess. While Cas silently observed his friend, Sam made himself a cup of coffee, slow movements revealing stiffness that Sam was trying to hide. Cas clenched a fist and looked away. He couldn't watch Sam in pain when he couldn't _do_ anything about it. A rough cough drew his eyes back to Sam just in time to see him catch himself on the counter, spilling coffee over his hand. 

"Son of a bitch!" Sam hissed, nearly dropping the carafe as the burn registered. He slammed the cold water tap on and jammed his hand under the stream, pinching his eyes closed. 

Cas quietly took the carafe from Sam's good hand and finished making the cup of coffee. He knew little enough of human first aid that it would be better for Sam to treat the burn himself, but this he could do. 

After several long minutes had passed where the only sound in the kitchen was the running water, Sam pulled his hand out and evidently decided it needed no further care. He joined Cas at the table, gratefully taking his mug back. At least now the coffee had cooled to a level that wasn't scalding. Steeling himself, Castiel said, "Sam. We should talk." Sam winced, but Cas continued. They would never get anywhere if he let the Winchesters dictate the conversations. "Before Gadreel revealed himself to me, you were attempting to ask me to come home with you, and you said a number of things that have been troubling me."

Sam gulped, then asked, "Like what?"

"Among other things, you suggested that you were not worthy of my affection." 

"Heh. Um—" Sam chuckled nervously, and Cas was sure he was thinking about bolting. "Look, I'm— I'm kind of a mess right now—"

"Sam. I don't know if you would like to pursue... whatever this is between us. I understand if you don't. I am, as you say, 'kind of a mess' myself. But I would very much like to clear up a few assumptions that you seem to have made. I did not leave this place because of the intimacy which we shared. I did, in fact, quite enjoy myself and wish that Dean had not interrupted before I had a chance to reciprocate. If it is agreeable to you, this is something I would like to remedy. As for the question of your worthiness, Sam, you are the most extraordinary human I have ever met. After the things that Heaven and angels have put you through— After what _I_ have put you through, I am continuously surprised that you wish to have anything to do with me."

Sam was shaking his head long before Cas stopped talking, though he let Cas finish before speaking. "No, Cas. You're an angel, and I'm just—"

"Not anymore."

Sam's eyes shone brightly with emotion. "We'll find a way to restore your grace. I promise."

Cas smiled. "And when we do, the first thing I will do is finish healing you." _I will not let you die a slow, painful death, Sam Winchester._

"I'm fine," Sam said automatically. They both knew better, so Cas didn't bother correcting the obvious lie.

They were quiet a moment, then Sam haltingly said, "I don't know. About pursuing this thing. I— God, Cas, I want to. But things don't tend to end well for people that care about me, you know?"

Cas considered this. "Does it make a difference if you consider the fact that I have already come back to life twice?"

Sam burst out laughing, and Cas delighted in watching him. When he got control of himself, Sam said, "You really want to try this, don't you?"

"Only if you do." 

"Yeah, Cas. I think I'd like that."

"May I kiss you now?" Cas asked.

Instead of answering, Sam leaned across the table and captured Cas's lips with his own.


End file.
